


consider this a lullaby

by softsocky



Series: socky shorts [9]
Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Short & Sweet, bandfic, because thats all i write anymore, dedicated solely to rocky sleeping, i should start a new tag, this is just...soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 09:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13455480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsocky/pseuds/softsocky
Summary: “Baby,” he says again, scratching a hand along his scalp, giggling at the way Rocky practically purrs at the action. “You’re like a cat.”





	consider this a lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this lying in bed dont hate me. title from Børns 'sweet dreams' which is actually kinda emo, so lyrically it doesn't make sense but its nice so listen to it.

The fans assumed that it was Bin, out of all of them, that liked sleep the most. Or _needed_ sleep the most. They knew that they all loved sleep to an extreme extent – that much was obvious from their YouTube videos, and from their work schedule – but none of them had really suspected otherwise. That hadn’t been their fault, either, at least not entirely, because they did only see so much. However, had the cameras never quite stopped rolling, they’d quickly learn that although Bin slept a lot, he didn’t sleep the _most._

For instance, _now_ , if DDOCA were here, they’d capture Minhyuk’s slow movements as he emerged from the car, headphones pushed deep into his ears, backpack straps loosened low over his shoulders. His eyes were lidded, still half asleep, and he couldn’t really tell if he was more awake or more asleep, but had decided he’d much rather the latter. Mornings were painfully difficult for Minhyuk on a good day – days where they didn’t have anything early scheduled, when he didn’t have to get the train to school, or when they planned an afternoon dance practice instead of a morning one – so waking up for early flights also meant waking up even earlier for car rides to get to the airport in time. It meant that these good days seemed worlds away now, and he wishes he could be having one of them as he stumbles blindly towards what he hopes is the main entrance to the airport.

The volume of his music is loud enough that he can’t hear the flurry of frantic footsteps around him, or the squeak of suitcase wheels on the tiles, but it’s quiet enough that he can the overhead announcements, and their manager directing them towards their correct check in counter. Rocky’s head is spinning with what he knows is an oncoming headache, and the coffee he’s already had this morning obviously wasn’t enough to tame it.

He groans, and he can _feel_ it more than he can hear it, and in the next moment there’s something warm pressed against his back.

Rocky’s eyes had drifted closed again, but he’s too tired to open them now, so he lets his head fall back against the taller figure behind him. With the way their heights work, Rocky’s head tucks perfectly under their chin, so his face can rest along the line of their neck, and _their_ arms can reach out and hold to his waist comfortably. The embrace is promising of sleep, not right now, but _soon,_ when they had time to kill in the terminal. They still had to check in and drop their bags, still had to get their tickets and select their seats, and even if it was all done at electronic kiosks these days, the boys weren’t the most technologically adept in the morning.

He can hear their manager mumbling softly, as if not to startle them with his usual loud drawl, but he isn’t paying attention anymore. He’s not really listening to his music either, can’t even place the name of the song that’s playing now, and he twists his body further into the arms around him.

With his nose against their skin, he can smell them now – can smell the mix of fabric softener and the tiny dab of cologne they’d put on this morning, their deodorant and something like burnt sugar or honeycomb – and he inhales it long and deep, etching it back into his memory again. Not that he had – or _would_ – ever forget it; it was just habit by now.

There’s a chuckling overhead of him, and Rocky feels the vibrations of it against his cheek, where it rests against their neck. Rocky feels his shoulders drop on a particularly hard thump of his brain, the headache worsening with the bright lights between his closed eyelids and the unnecessarily hurried movements. He shakes his head along the expanse of neck, trying to get them to chuckle again, liking the sound of it much more than the sound of his brain pounding. It works, and Rocky can’t stop the tiny smile grazing his lips. Then, a finger is knocking out one of his headphones, but he’s too tired to be bothered by it.

“Come on,” Sanha whispers into his ear, lips grazing the skin. Rocky doesn’t know where he’s going, but he lets one of Sanha’s hands fall from his waist and slip into his own hand, their fingers interlocking on instinct.

“Let’s get you another coffee.” This time he says it a bit louder, so the rest of them can hear, and their manager must have a disgruntled noise, because Rocky can feel him waving his hand in front of them in dismissal.

“We won’t be long. And he really needs it,” the hand that was waving was now on the small of his back, and Sanha didn’t wait for a reply before guiding Rocky forwards.

Whereas before Rocky had stumbled blindly, searching for the comfort of walls and not _roads_ , where he was likely to be hurt, now he just _walked_. Sanha was there leading him along, not letting him fumble over his own feet, telling him every few seconds to open his eyes. Rocky tried, but they were so _heavy_ , and he felt delirious with how tired he was.

He doesn’t know where they’re getting the coffee from, doesn’t care, so long as it has caffeine in it. Rocky knows when they’re there, because the smell is thick and heavenly, and it’s enough for him to flutter his eyes open.

Sanha sighs, “there you are.”

His words are soft and wispy and made more of air than they are of words. Rocky feels a kiss of pink against his cheeks at the fondness laced in his voice.

Sanha’s in front of him, dark skin under his eyes and face free of makeup, but Rocky thinks he’s no less beautiful. His smile is soft, and reaches his eyes, and Rocky moves forward a little so he can rest his chin on his shoulder. Sanha is snickering above him, all air and breathy, and the hand on his back slides up to his hair. Sanha’s fingers card through the slight knots and snags, and Rocky feels himself slipping back into sleep.

Suddenly, their fingers are gone, and gentle hands are pushing his body away. Rocky whines at the loss of contact, at the loss of warmth, and for the fact he had once again been pulled from sleep. Sanha is laughing louder now, eyes squinting from it. Rocky pouts, knows that it works sometimes (knows it most definitely won’t work _now_ , when they have a strict enough time line as it is).

“ _Baby_ ,” Sanha lets out, half amused, half annoyed. “Let me get your coffee first, okay.”

He whines, but Sanha is already leaving him by an empty table and disappearing up to the counter. Rocky plants himself in the seat, taking the other headphone out of his ear and shoving them both into his pocket for later. He drops his bag to the floor, and his head falls into where he’s sprawled his arms along the cool surface.

He knows he’s not asleep – at least, not properly – but he was lulled into some kind of fake pretence by the soothing sound of coffee beans grinding and of milk foaming. Suddenly, Rocky’s aware of fingers back in his hair, and he shivers from the gentleness of it. Sanha coos, stretched along his back from behind him, and presses his cheek to his hair.

“You’re so sleepy today,” he says, bending down to pick up Rocky’s bag from the floor. Rocky goes to protest when he sees it swung over his boyfriend’s shoulder, but the younger swats his hands over. He whines again, then sticks his hand out for Sanha to take. Rocky was naturally clingy – loved skin-ship and loved expressing his love for his band mates, for _Sanha_ – but it amplified the moment he was sleepier than normal. Sanha’s hand does take his though, and then he’s helping him to his feet from the table, and a comfortingly warm takeaway mug is being placed into his spare hand.

“Thank you,” Rocky whispers, tilting his face up to the younger boy.

Sanha understood, and leant down to press a kiss to his lips. It was so soft, so very gentle, that it felt like Rocky was up in the clouds, still sleeping, _still dreaming._ Sanha pulled away, but didn’t go far. Rocky could feel his lips hovering just in front of his, and he fluttered his eyes open. Sanha’s were still shut, and Rocky loved the smile tugged on Sanha’s lips, loved the slight flush of his cheeks. His breath was fanning over his face, warm and smelling of peppermint, and Rocky took closed the tiny distance between them again.

Their second kiss was as short as the first, if not shorter, but it woke him up the same way he knew his coffee would. Sanha had sighed into it, and in normal circumstances Rocky might have done something with that, but they needed to get out of the entranceway to the coffee shop, needed to check in and discard of their suitcases. Rocky pulled away with a tiny smile of his own, placing a wet, sleepy kiss to Sanha’s cheek, before removing their faces entirely.

Sanha walked beside him, keeping his pace despite his far longer legs, watching him amusedly as he moaned into his coffee. Rocky’s senses were already starting to perk up, and Sanha brushed a finger along his cheek now, so he knew he was starting to get his colour back, too. He half keened into the touch, tilting his face that way, but instead of being treated to more touches, the hand left his face.

“ _So_ needy, Baby,” Sanha says fondly, lips by his ear.

Normally, their pet names worked the other way around. Sanha was younger, and Rocky was usually the more protective one. Sure, their age difference was only one year, but Sanha eluded so much innocence and pure vulnerability, that Rocky made a vow that the day Sanha gave him his heart, he’d give him his full, undivided protection in return (along with his own heart). Because Sanha was Rocky’s Baby, that was his pet name for him, maybe even _Angel_ , maybe even _Petal_ , and lately, more often than not, _Sunshine._ The names – no matter which one he used – would always make Sanha’s face the most beautiful shade of red or pink, and Rocky would always tell him as much, earning him a playful slap and an embarrassed whine. But right now, it wasn’t like that. Now, Rocky was Sanha’s baby, because when Rocky fell into this state of exhausted delirium, it was difficult to drag him out. Sanha was patient enough and willing enough to wait it out, to hold him through it and tug him free when the moment was right. When he felt like this, Rocky wanted to be held and protected the way he liked to hold and protect Sanha, wanted to feel safe in an embrace, wanted to be warm and coddled and filled with love. And Sanha was just that, was ready to pour all of that into Rocky. So, the name didn’t bother Rocky – at least, not anymore. Whenever Sanha would call him his Baby now, he’s grip on him would tighten, and he’d flush a delicate shade of pink, and he’d giggle into whatever piece of Sanha’s skin he could reach.

Sanha tugged him along behind him now as they entered the line to the check in kiosks. Rocky glanced around curiosity, but couldn’t spot the others anywhere. Frowning, he turned his head up to boyfriend, eyes questioning.

“They’ve already checked in,” he explains. “We’ll meet them at the terminal.”

Rocky nods once, then rolls his face into Sanha’s shoulder when the younger presses a quick kiss to his forehead. He makes a choked-up kind of sound when Sanha giggles, mumbling out a _so cute_ , and ignoring the way Rocky shakes his arms to get him to stop.

As Sanha punches in their details to the machine, Rocky presses himself along the long line of Sanha’s back. His head tucks neatly overtop of Sanha’s shoulder, so he can watch his fingers tap in their surnames and select the best seats. Rocky doesn’t care where they sit, so long as they’re together. That’s like most things, he guesses.

With the hand not holding his coffee, he wraps it around Sanha’s waist, settling on the soft jolt of his hip. Sanha hums into the touch, though doesn’t stop his movements on the screen. Rocky knows they’re being one of those couples they’re not overly fond of. The ones that can’t stop touching each other in public, but Rocky understands the need for physical contact now, especially with the way he’s feeling. His headache is still there, though it’s a distant memory now. The caffeine and Sanha’s soft touches have lowered its volume to a barely-there scratch, very different from the heavy-set bass drum it was before. Sanha keeps working through Rocky’s touches, through his fingers dancing along his side, overtop the thick, cuddly sweater he wears. Rocky vaguely recognises it as his own, but he likes it better on Sanha, anyway. He nuzzles his nose into the spot where his neck meets his shoulders, and rests there until Sanha is stepping away from the computer.

“ _Baby_ ,” he says again, scratching a hand along his scalp, giggling at the way Rocky practically purrs at the action. “You’re like a cat.”

Rocky smiles, let’s out a little huff, and then sticks his lips out. His eyes are closed, so he can’t see Sanha rolling his eyes, but he’s known him long enough to know that he _does._ It doesn’t stop him from giving him another kiss, though. It’s too chaste for Rocky’s liking – wants one of Sanha’s longer and deeper ones, the ones that warm him up all the way done to his bones, makes him feel rejuvenated in ways sleep itself can’t even offer – but he knows there’s a time and place, and that the middle of an airport isn’t one of them. So, instead, he lets their fingers lace together as they head towards the security area, where Rocky discards of his coffee cup.

They make it through security quickly, Rocky perking up just enough to show his face to the Customs Officer. He hates this part, because he has to let Sanha go completely. His hands are empty, save for his passport, and they felt cold and fragile. There’s no warm body pressed up beside him, no arms wrapped around his waist, no lips on his. He’s pouting again, he knows it, and he can feel the lines of concern deeper between his brows.

On the other side, though, that changes again. Sanha is at his side in an instant, arm curling around his waist, lips pressing firmly against his forehead. Rocky rests his hands on Sanha’s shoulders, locking around his neck as Sanha moves his lips further down his face, across his temples, his cheeks, his chin, peppering small kisses along his journey. He treats him to two soft kisses on his lips before leading Rocky to walk again, pointing towards where he can see Jinwoo’s head bobbing to some music where he’s seated at their gate.

Sanha collapses into one of the chairs, tugging Rocky down onto his lap. Rocky can see Bin gag at them, Eunwoo chuckling childishly beside him. Rocky’s cheeks turn pink, but he doesn’t move from his spot on Sanha’ lap. His legs are on either side of his hips, and his arms are still laced around his throat, so Rocky can easily tuck his head back into the crook of Sanha’s neck. Sanha hums, and Rocky feels the vibrations tickling along his skin. Rocky hums back, letting his eyes slip closed. He knows he has about forty minutes waiting at the gate before they would have to start boarding, and that would be more than enough of a power nap for Rocky to take the edge off his exhaustion.

Sanha had one hand running up along his spine, the other fixed on his waist. His fingers are tracing mindless patterns across the material of his shirt, but it’s still enough to leave a line of fire in their wake. He curls further into his neck, lips pressing to the hollow of his throat. His headache is starting to tick behind his eyelids again, and he whimpers just loud enough for Sanha to hear.

“Sleep, Baby,” he says softly, breath washing across the side of his face not tucked into his neck. “ _Sleep_ ,” he commands again, quieter this time.

Rocky closes his eyes, and snuggles back into a comfortable position in his lap. Before he can fall too deeply into sleep, though, he drags his mouth along Sanha’s throat, lips searching. Rocky ignores the staggered sounding breath the younger releases, sighing with gratitude when his lips find what they were searching for. Unlike their brief pecks earlier, this kiss is longer, though it’s no less soft. The hand that was on his waist has moved to his cheek, and Sanha drags his thumb back and forth along his cheekbone. The movement is so soft, Sanha’s touch so delicate, it makes Rocky feel fragile – well looked after, and protected, but _fragile._ He thought this would bother him, thought it would make him feel weak or as though he were an unwarranted vulnerability, but he finds himself sinking further into the kiss in comfort.

“Oi!” The voice was loud and coming from beside them, and Rocky wanted to ignore it, but knew Sanha wouldn’t. The younger separated their lips with a quiet _smack_ , turning to glare at MJ and whack at him with his hand. Rocky pretends like nothing had happened, proceeds to tuck his head back into Sanha’s neck. Rocky wasn’t sure why he loved this spot best. Wasn’t sure if it was because it was always warm; or if it was because he could inhale Sanha’s sweet scent best there; or if it was because he could feel the thump of Sanha’s jugular, reminding him that this angelic thing really was human, and really was here.

Because maybe Rocky liked to sleep – loved to sleep, even – and maybe he needed more than what was probably deemed healthy; but he _knows_ that when he gets up in the mornings, he has someone in his life to stay _awake_ for. Rocky thinks that’s beautiful. Rocky thinks _Sanha’s_ beautiful.

And with a small smile, Rocky sleeps.

 

  

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [come say hello!](http://softsocky.tumblr.com/)


End file.
